


You Remind Me of the Babe (The Babe with the Power)

by iCheat



Series: Steter Week 2020 [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergent, Eventual Steter, Haunting, Image Prompt, Kanima Jackson Whittemore, M/M, Magic Stiles, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessive Behavior, Steter Week 2020, Stiles Stilinski-centric, Voodoo doll
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:20:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25542763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iCheat/pseuds/iCheat
Summary: When Stiles was little one of his favourite things was watching his mother make dolls. When Stiles gets older and werewolves start invading his life he ends up making a lot of dolls. Special dolls.He's not prepared for the side-effects or attention this draws but he's not about to let anyone stop him from protecting what's his.For day 1 of Steter Week image prompts
Relationships: Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski & Jackson Whittemore
Series: Steter Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1850872
Comments: 22
Kudos: 174





	You Remind Me of the Babe (The Babe with the Power)

**Author's Note:**

> Steter week is back and I'm starting it off with my next ongoing project.

When Stiles was little one of his favourite things was watching his mother make dolls. He found it amazing how she could sew together bits of material and make a little person. Even if most of them were normal children’s dolls. Not like the doll of his father, which sat on the highest shelf out of reach.

It looked somehow real, alive. Once, when his dad got hurt on the job, he found his mum stitching the doll back up and murmuring words of comfort and encouragement.

It was his favourite, even if he wasn’t allowed to touch it.

Most of Claudia’s dolls were just that. She made and sold them, or donated some of them. Stiles loved to watch her create them and he loved playing with her finished ones. She made some animals too, but Stiles liked the ones that looked like people, that he could put a name and voice too. He and his mum would play together for hours. He never felt lonely with her and the dolls with him.

He was so excited when she started letting him help and then, eventually let him make his own.

The first doll Stiles ever made was a disaster. Its limbs were disproportionate, the uneven stuffing left it bulging in places and floppy in others, and it had mismatched eyes, one stitched and one a sewed on button. By the time it was finished his hands were covered in Band-Aids from all the times he’d pricked himself and the doll had stains from both the drops of blood and his frustrated tears.

Young and frustrated when he finished the last stitch he threw the doll down and declared they were all stupid. Claudia was the one to pick up the doll and put it back in the very upset Stiles’ lap.

“Just because something isn’t perfect, doesn’t mean it’s not special,” she said softly.

“It doesn’t even look like a person,” Stiles said, scowling at the toy.

“There are more important things than looks,” Claudia said, “And you need to be careful with things that look like people.”

“What about Dad’s doll?” Stiles asked, looking at the little duplicate of his dad on the high shelf.

“That wasn’t my first doll,” Claudia said with a gentle smile. “When you’re older, maybe you’ll make dolls like that. If you feel you need them. For now though, why not give this guy a chance? Your first is always special, no matter how it looks. He’s a part of you now. Don’t you want to at least name him? Your dolls are going to be special, just like you. If you let them.”

Stiles stared at the messed up little doll, then glanced up at his dad’s doll again.

“Ok,” he said softly, holding the doll close to his chest. “Ok.”

Rumpled Stuffskin became Stiles constant companion in the house. He was old enough not to think taking it to school was a good idea but he carried it with him everywhere at home. He talked to Stuffskin all the time, told him his secrets and everything that happened to him.

Years passed and he made more dolls. He didn’t cry when they weren’t right and he stopped pricking himself. Mostly. He learned quickly and was soon adding the dolls he made to the ones his mum sold.

When his mum got sick and his dad grew distant Stiles turned to Rumpled Stuffkin for comfort. During one of Claudia’s lucid moments they worked together to make Stiles’ first person doll.

Stiles held Stuffkin close and sobbed himself to sleep when he felt the doll slowly deteriorate. Like it’s carefully managed stuffing was turning to sawdust.

When Stiles got home after Claudia passed away the doll was limp and held no trace of life. Stiles was the one to sit it up on the highest shelf. Nothing more than another memory.

As his father drowned himself in his grief and alcohol.

Stiles, young and so, so _lonely_ , went to his room, sat Stuffkin down in front of him and spoke with a shuddering breath.

“Rumpled Stuffskin, I want to play.”

* * *

No one but Stiles entered his mother’s craft room. His dad acted like the door didn’t even exist, which made it the perfect place for Stiles to get away from everything. He never bothered making anymore ‘special’ dolls.

Not until Scott got bit by a werewolf.

Then it became kind of… obsessive.

Suddenly he was seeing threats around every corner and every single person he knew was in danger and he was weak and human and he couldn’t _protect anyone_.

He could watch over them though. It started with Scott, obviously, then he kept talking about Allison, and Peter involved Melissa, then his Dad made a comment and Stiles was in the station trying to discreetly collect hair, and suddenly Stiles had the entire Sheriff’s department in miniature sitting in the craft room.

He maybe had a problem.

It wasn’t like they put anyone in danger though. They were just meant to monitor people, let him help them if they got hurt. It wasn’t invasive, he told himself, because he only knew if they were injured not their personal lives.

He stared at his most recent doll. Little Lydia stared back before Stiles breathed out, murmuring her name quietly as he finished the last stitch. That tiny spark of life, the connection to the real Lydia, lit up in his hands. Her injuries showed up immediately. The wounds left by Peter’s attack.

He sewed them up, wished her a fast recovery and sat her down with the rest of them.

Without even registering it Stiles reached for the next doll. He had two more partially made, Derek and Jackson, with the hair ready to go.

It wasn’t creepy.

Stiles stared at Little Jackson with a frown.

He definitely had a problem.

* * *

Little Jackson had scales.

That was weird

Stiles frowned at the little doll, rubbing at the scales.

It was like running his fingers down a snake.

That was weird.

He’d never had a doll change texture before. Serious injuries showed up, things he could stitch closed, and the colours could change to show bruising but they were just dolls, made of cloth.

They didn’t sprout scales.

He spent a while debating what to do. When he noticed the little patch growing he tried cutting the section off and patching it. The scales were back the next day.

It became part of Stiles’ daily routine. Cutting off the patch or scales and replacing them with, unmarred material. All his other dolls were fine. Things between Allison and Scott were tense but neither of them was physically hurting. Lydia was still in the hospital but there was only so much he could do for Little Lydia to help her along.

That left him with Jackson to focus on.

Jackson and Danny both definitely noticed Stiles’ new attention. Before they could have any kind of confrontation though Lydia up and disappears.

He was in the hospital and he didn’t even notice. When his dad sent him home he went without complaint, he needed to check on Little Lydia.

The doll wasn’t showing any signs of distress on the outside. He hesitated for a long moment before he finally brought himself to look inside.

He didn’t like it. He’d replaced the stuffing of Little Claudia constantly when she was ill. Every time there’d been a creeping black something over the stuffing in its head. She’d told him because they worked on it together, and because her blood was in it, it was more connected to her. The magic was stronger.

Not that it helped.

Checking Little Lydia’s stuffing revealed a few odd dark spots, but unlike his experience with Little Claudia the spots just brushed off like dirt. A lot like dirt. Stiles collected it, set it aside, and completely replaced the stuffing.

The next day he added more dirt to the jar, replaced Little Jackson’s scales, and frowned at the two dolls.

Things were kicking off again. Allison’s creepy grandpa showed up, Lydia was missing, something was definitely wrong with Jackson, Derek was being unhelpful and Stiles was so worried if he let his dolls out of sight they’d get hurt.

Oh and Coach Lahey was murdered. Stiles changed out the material on Little Jackson with a concerned frown. His stomach rolling for a reason he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

By the time Lydia was coming to school again Stiles was carrying an extra bag. Just a small backpack with a little lock keeping it closed. He found himself feeling extra defensive of Lydia, though he was far more concerned with other people’s eyes and whispers than he was about if she was paying attention to him.

That was weird.

Things kept spiralling out of control. Derek started bitting other teenagers, Isaac got arrested, Allison was apparently doing hunter training (which Stiles hated with a passion because Little Allison kept developing bruises and scrapes and then Allison acted like it was normal and Stiles wanted to wrap his string around Argent throats), werewolf Erica was hot and terrifying, Lydia was having episodes more, and Stiles spent way too long working out how to make Little Boyd without his hair.

He used a finger-nail. Definitely preferred hair though.

He and Danny were also getting a bit closer, being the only ones concerned about Jackson although they showed in very different ways.

Stiles’ theory is confirmed when he’s lying paralysed on a garage floor and watching a lizard creature move to kill the mechanic. He thought of Little Jackson in his bag, wanted to pull it out and look at it, stop him, do _something_ but he can’t _move_. He can barely talk but…

“Jackson.”

The creature, blood on its hands, came up to the glass and looked at him. Stiles stared back, searching for some sign of recognition, some sign of _Jackson_ , but the creature just hissed and left.

When his dad questioned him Stiles clung to his bag and lied. When he told Scott about the creature he clung to the bag and told him it was familiar but didn’t tell him he knew it was Jackson.

Little Jackson had extra scales when Stiles finally got the chance to pull him out and look at him. Stiles was maybe a little extra vicious in cutting the pieces off and replacing them. The dolls only represent the body, so he can’t deny the scales are the manifestation of this creature using Jackson’s body. Using his body probably against his will.

The very thought got Stiles’ blood boiling.

He was in such a foul mood the next morning when he discovered Little Lydia’s hands had been sliced open. He’d just finished stitching them closed when he noticed the injuries appearing on Little Erica and Isaac and was immediately furious. Little Isaac’s arm twisted and he thought he heard a faint crack, though he knew he couldn’t have, from the doll. He grabbed Little Derek without thinking and squeezed his arm.

He didn’t intend to break it, not even really harm him, just a warning.

A moment later Stiles dropped the doll and stepped back.

What was that? He’d never used his dolls that way. Never to hurt someone, and why Derek? Why had he been do sure that it was Derek hurting his dolls?

Erica and Isaac.

He’d been hurting Erica and Isaac. Like Allison’s hunter training. Stiles sneered at the thought.

Stiles shaken Stiles set the dolls aside and instead gathered Rumpled Stuffskin up and hugged him to his chest. He stared there for a moment before his dad shouted at him to get to school.

Even now the Sheriff wouldn’t come into the craft room and Stiles was grateful for it. He straightened out Isaac’s arm and placed all the dolls into the bag. He put Rumpled Stuffskin in last with a mumbled instruction to keep them safe.

He wasn’t in the mood for school. Scott and Allison were making him play messenger for them and he hated it. It wasn’t just the romantic stuff, it was the implications behind it that set Stiles’ teeth on edge. Allison’s family were threatening both of them and the knowledge of the looming threat made him murderous.

He was starting to get concerned about that.

Then Allison told him about them checking all her messages.

“That’s fucked up,” Stiles said before he could stop himself. Not that it wasn’t true but…

“They’re just worried-”

“Allison that’s an invasion of privacy,” Stiles said, unable to stop now that he’d gotten a little bit of vent. “That’s so unhealthy and controlling. You have rights! You’re not a Barbie doll. You’re a _person_. I know it’s your family but it just feels like they’re trying to make you into what they want and not considering how you feel.”

“Stiles,” Allison said, a little uncertain. “If this is about the hunter training again…”

“No it’s, actually yeah, that’s shit too,” Stiles said with a huff. “There’s a reason child soldier are so reprehensible, but we’re in dangerville and I _get_ wanting to be able to defend yourself. This is scary stuff. I just don’t like the way their training seems to be focused on making you a better hunter by taking away the things that make you a _person_.”

Allison was quiet and Stiles let out a sigh.

“Hey, I’m sorry, that’s heavy,” he said, pulling her into a hug. “I just, I don’t want you to become some weapon for them and forget what an amazing person you are.”

Allison hugged him back and they moved on. They had a book to steal, after all.

* * *

“I’m everyone’s type,” Jackson said with a smirk.

“Well apparently Stilinski thinks so,” Danny replied with a raised eyebrow.

“What?” Jackson said, faltering.

“I think Stilinski has a crush on you. He’s been asking about you a lot. Apparently he’s noticed your acting weird.”

“I’m not acting weird,” Jackson said sharply. “And Stilinski does _not_ have a crush on me.”

“Probably not,” Danny agreed and smirked at Jackson’s expression. “Just wanted to see how you’d react. Nice to see you being normal.”

“I’m not being weird.”

“Sure you’re not. I might invite Stiles to Jungle though, I’m starting to think he was actually genuine when he asked about gay guys.”

“Whatever.”

* * *

Stiles probably could have predicted the night was going to go wrong. Everything seemed to at the moment. First it was Lydia sitting in her car crying.

Stiles didn’t know how much help he was. He told her she was beautiful and when they didn’t seem to be all that comforting he fumbled.

“Hey, you are more than how people see you,” he said gently. “I know things are hard but you are amazing and I don’t want you to lose that because other people can be awful. I’m probably not who you want to talk to, weird Stiles, but I’ll listen. I want to help”

She looked at him with wide eyes and she was beautiful but Stiles couldn’t help but think of the jar of dirt in his room. He couldn’t do enough for her and it made him feel awful.

Then he had to leave her there and that didn’t help either.

He didn’t find the book, then Erica was there and Derek and Jackson’s body and Stiles was trying to hold Derek up in the pool.

Needless to say by the time they had the stupid book (thumb drive) and were discussing the monster (kanima) Stiles was tired, wet and deeply unhappy in a lot of ways so when Derek said he was going to _kill it_ , putting images of Little Jackson torn to irreparable shreds in his mind, Stiles snapped.

“Like hell you’re going to kill it,” Stiles snarled, ignoring Scott’s confused and concerned voice.

“You’re gonna stop me?”

“Am I going to stop you from committing murder? Against someone you yourself said doesn’t know what’s going on? Fuck yes,” Stiles said. “You and the fucking Argents and anyone else who thinks they can hurt my-”

Dolls.

“-town.” Stiles finished, eyes wide. That wasn’t normal. They were people not just his dolls. Wasn’t that just what he’d been telling Allison?

He just wanted to protect them though. He didn’t want to control them. The dolls couldn’t even affect the real person’s mind.

He didn’t have time for this. Everyone one was gunning for Jackson and Stiles was the only person who knew who he was so Stiles was going to keep him safe. Him and Lydia and Allison and Scott and even Derek, no matter how much of as asshole he was being.

He just had to work out how.

It was time to change the rules.

* * *

Lydia curled up on her floor, shaking as she tried to pretend there wasn’t a smouldering man sat beside her, speaking in a mock-comforting voice. He looked solid at the moment, none of the translucence or flicker he sometimes experienced that made him angry and snarly

She was losing her mind and no one cared.

No one…

“Stiles,” she said softly. Stiles had said he’d listen. Stiles said she was amazing and he called himself weird. Maybe… maybe she _could_ talk to him.

“Well,” said Peter Hale thoughtfully. “That could be interesting.”

**Author's Note:**

> Steter Week image prompts https://steterweek.tumblr.com/post/615954678532947968/steter-week-2020


End file.
